


Dagger

by yeaka



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: Hyrule Warriors
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-19
Updated: 2017-01-19
Packaged: 2018-09-18 13:16:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9386903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Ghirahim escorts Link to Ganondorf, ready to end the war.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Legend of Zelda or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

The doors fly apart for him the same as they always have, heedless of his absence—he was sent by their lord himself to infiltrate the princess’ keep. And Ghirahim did so. ...In his own way.

He hides his fear as he strolls down the long, crimson carpet that lines the castle floor, projecting, as always, an air of utter confidence. The various monsters scattered about the hall part wordlessly for him, a few spouting little snorts of surprise, others hissing in contempt or snickering in pleasure. Ghirahim’s latest catch walks at his side, stalling once as a lizalfo’s tail whips out, but Ghirahim pulls Link aside in time to spare his legs any damage. Ghirahim gives the overgrown reptile a scathing look, and it bears teeth in return. 

Ghirahim is quicker in the rest of his steps, nearly dragging Link forward at a break-neck pace—Link stumbles to keep up. By the time they reach the front of the hall, the rabble’s fallen into silence, all eyes on the great king in his throne. 

Ganondorf rises slowly to his feet. Ghirahim pushes at the small of Link’s back, and Link obediently crumples to his knees. He even winces for effect when he hits the tile at the end of the carpet, cold and hard; his trousers have been torn in too many places to offer protection. His green tunic is shredded down his front, pale torso littered in bruises beneath. His cheek is purple, blood crusting at the corner of his mouth. His wrists are bound before him in thick chains, the end of them rising to Ghirahim’s hands like a makeshift leash. Ghirahim lifts a foot and presses it right between Link’s shoulder blades, forcing him forward, until he’s bent completely in two, golden bangs brushing the ground. Ghirahim spares him a proud look, then turns to Ganondorf to announce, “I’ve brought you their hero, master. He put up quite a fight, but he proved no match for me.” He ends with a broad smirk and his arms outstretched, head tilting back to revel in his glory.

Ganondorf mirrors the smile. Ghirahim had thought, perhaps, that he would face trouble for just how long he was gone, and worse, feared that Ganondorf might know _why_ it took so long. But there’s no recognition there; Ganondorf’s eyes are only for the man forced to kneel at his feet. There’s a collective breath held in the hall—all other captains that have come for one order or another await their master’s word. Ganondorf takes one step forward, his heavy boot booming against the stairs beneath his throne as he descends them. He comes to stand just before Ghirahim, and Ghirahim’s foot tenses atop Link’s back. Link doesn’t tremble. But he doesn’t rise either, and for once, Ghirahim is glad that he isn’t prone to speaking out of turn. 

“You’ve done well,” Ganondorf purrs, the words for Ghirahim but his gaze still on Link. “I’ll enjoy slaying the legendary _hero_ with my own hand.” He spits the one word with venom, his arm extending. In another second, he’ll snap his fingers, and Ghirahim will become his blade, bound to do whatever he should will. Ghirahim’s body seizes, surprised and furious at his own oversight—he’d assumed this would go differently, but he should’ve known not to expect his master to treat pets the way he himself does—

“Wait,” he hisses, finally drawing Ganondorf eye. All in one graceful movement, Ghirahim slides his foot away and bends to knot a fist in Link’s soft hair, absent of the usual hat. He yanks Link up so fast that Link totters for balance, but Ghirahim jerks him back and holds him taut, Ghirahim flush behind him, clutched protectively against Ghirahim’s chest. Still holding a fist in Link’s hair to keeps his neck vulnerable and bared, Ghirahim tries, “So quickly, master? When we already have him chained? It would be a shame to have gone through all that to catch him, only to end it so fast...” A moblin grunts angrily in the background, likely eager for blood, but Ghirahim stands firm. There’re too many of them. He’s acutely aware of every vicious body in the room, far too many for Link to manage. He lowers his voice and coos, as suggestive as he can, “I’d hoped for a more... _private_... setting to show you his many uses.” Ganondorf quirks one red brow, and Ghirahim darts his tongue out to swipe at Link’s cheek. Link squirms in his grip and makes a hurt noise. It lights a sudden fire in Ganondorf face, and Ghirahim does it again, crudely licking Link from shoulder to ear to make him writhe and groan. 

Ganondorf’s arm has lowered. He makes a cluck of consideration, and Ghirahim can see his opportunity. He can see the sheer _lust_ on his master’s face, and he understands; he’s just as tempted by Link’s beauty. He slips his free hand around Link’s chest to shift away some of the threads of Link’s tunic, fingers tracing beneath until he finds one pink nipple, lightly pebbled in the cold of the hall. Ghirahim pinches it lightly and gives it a little tug, delighting in Link’s cry of distress. Ghirahim thrusts one leg between Link’s thighs to hold him up and keep them spread, wishing he’d torn the trousers in a different area. Link’s crotch is just barely covered, and Ghirahim peers obviously down over Link’s shoulder to purr, “He has such a _handsome_ body, master... so fit and strong... he’s made us work to catch him; shouldn’t we put him to ‘work’? Why should he get to die on his feet, when we could have him on his back, sweaty and panting, begging for mercy...” Ghirahim tugs Link’s nipple with a sudden cruelty, and Link cries the loudest yet, bucking forward. His seduction is intoxicating. Ghirahim has to force himself to focus on Ganondorf, instead of losing himself in playing with the supple creature in his arms. 

Ganondorf glances aside, down at the chain hanging from Link’s wrists. Then he moves to take it, thoughtfully twining it about his gauntlet-covered fingers. He’s still fully draped in armour, empowered and unstoppable, but this may be the best chance they ever get, especially if they can take this to the room Ghirahim wants. Ghirahim finally releases his hold on Link’s hair, only to wrap his arms possessively around Link’s middle and hiss, “Shouldn’t you claim your prize, master? Shouldn’t you enjoy the fruits of our labour away from prying eyes?” Ghirahim drops into a conspirator’s whisper to add, “You should see him when he’s bare, bent and broken, for _you_ alone. These useless minions have no right to see your treasure or your enjoyment.”

The darknut nearest to Ghirahim barks a stifled protest, but Ganondorf’s expression has darkened with it—he’s never been one to share. His fist tightens around the chain, and he darts a hand out to grab Link’s chin. Link looks defiantly up but still says nothing. Then Ganondorf surges forward, slamming his mouth into Link’s soft lips.

The kiss lasts barely a second before Ganondorf wrenches away with a snarl, a fleck of dark red smeared across his lip. He backhands Link hard across the face, and only Ghirahim’s arms and thigh keep Link from flying to the floor. Ghirahim can guess what happened—Link must have bitten his tongue. But Ganondorf’s eyes are alight with new interest, and he only looks invigorated by it. Ghirahim still hurries to insist, “He _will_ break, master.” He slithers around Link’s body as he says it, coming to Link’s side instead, and slides his palm along Link’s bruised cheek. He presses closer more elegantly than the king, and when he flicks the tip of his tongue along Link’s seam, Link opens for him. Ghirahim slips more of his tongue’s length into Link’s mouth and moans for show, though the kiss is _very_ good. He just needs Ganondorf to know it. Link kisses him back with a sort of restrained fervour, until Ghirahim finally manages to break away. When he pulls back, he strokes his thumb affectionately along Link’s bottom lip. To Ganondorf, he says, “I’ve _made_ him serve me, master. And I can make him serve you, too.”

“I’ll do it myself,” Ganondorf snarls, lips stretched wide in a smirk. Ghirahim can only imagine what horrors it must portend. But to his relief, they won’t happen here; Ganondorf announces, “We will retire to my chambers, and make this hero regret the day he ever dared raise a sword against me!”

Dismay and displeasure ripple through the hall, but none argue too loudly—they know better. Ganondorf turns and sweeps off, headed for the door to the right of the throne.

Ghirahim spares one quick moment to Link, who thankfully hides his relief and anticipation just as well. He turns his gaze to Ghirahim, and for a moment, they’re locked like that, sharing what messages they can without words. This could all go wrong so easily. Ghirahim could slip right back to Ganondorf’s side, be praised as the king’s right hand, and keep his new lover too, and Link would bear the price of his treachery in years of pain. 

But Ghirahim knows now that he doesn’t want to be only someone’s hand. He can taste _freedom_ on his tongue, and he’s touched by the trust in Link’s eyes. 

Link nods his head. Ghirahim turns to follow to his lord’s chambers, ready to become his true master’s sword.


End file.
